Van â Always Wandering.
This overcast Friday morning was no different. I set out without a destination, trusting Saigon to decide where I should end up. Thatâs become my favorite way to travel here. The city has a habit of rewarding curiosity.
I wandered into a strange little courtyard anchored by an enormous Starbucks sign. That alone felt odd. In a country overflowing with incredible coffee, I still canât quite justify Starbucks. But as I walked farther in, the sign faded into the background. Hidden behind it were half a dozen vintage vans serving coffee, tea, pastries, and books. It was less a cafĂ© than a tiny neighborhood festival.
One van caught my eye: Rong ChÆĄi Coffee.
Later I learned that rong chÆĄi roughly translates to wandering or roaming freely without a specific destination. Well⊠if that isnât my life in a nutshell.
The universe definitely knew what it was doing that morning.
A simple cĂ phĂȘ Äen ÄĂĄâstraight black iced coffeeâfor 35,000 VND ($1.33), and I was reminded once again that some of the best experiences in Saigon donât announce themselves. They wait quietly for you to stumble across them.
Just around the corner from where Iâve been living for months sits Barxiu, tucked away inside an apartment building.
Iâd walked past it countless times without ever figuring out how to get upstairs. This week I finally asked someone, got redirected to a different staircase, and suddenly there it was.
Worth every bit of the effort.
I ordered their Dirty MatchaâVietnamese phin coffee, condensed milk, and matcha. Normally matcha drinks can be overwhelmingly sweet, but this one wasnât. It balanced the earthiness of the tea with the richness of Vietnamese coffee beautifully. Cozy, eclectic, and one of those cafĂ©s that makes you want to linger.
Sometimes all it takes is asking where the stairs are.
One morning I stopped at a tiny neighborhood coffee stand for a 30,000 VND cĂ phĂȘ sữa ÄĂĄ.
I only had 28,000 VND.
Without hesitation they smiled and waved me off.
âIâll bring the other 2,000 next time,â I thought to myself.
*I dropped it off two days later. They were surprised because they didnât expect it.
As I sat outside in one of those familiar little red plastic chairs, the familyâs front doors stood wide open while they moved effortlessly between their living room and coffee cart. On the television Belgium was playing the United States in the World Cup.
One of this weekâs highlights was discovering SâMores Saigon, where I had a NEL drip coffee.
If youâve never had one, a NEL drip uses a flannel cloth filterâa technique with French roots that was later perfected in Japan before eventually finding its way into old Saigon cafĂ©s. The result is unlike any other black coffee Iâve had.
Silky.
Clean.
Almost elegant.
Apparently it was once considered coffee for Vietnamâs elite.
I understand why.
Itâs less like drinking coffee and more like drinking a philosophy.
TĂĄch TĂĄch, another cafĂ© inside the old mint green apartment building on Nguyá» n VÄn TrĂĄng.
Their drink was called âLove You So Matcha.â
Japanese Uji matcha, oat milk, condensed milk, a touch of syrupâŠ
Mildly sweet with no bitterness.
Exactly how I move through life these days.
Room 44, a salted caramel latte. It is tucked inside the same mint green old apartment complex. There is something about climbing those worn staircases that always feels like entering another version of Saigon.
At The Simple Café, I tried their Grape Chill Cold Brew.
Imagine sweet grape juice somehow deciding it wanted to become coffee.
Or maybe coffee deciding it wanted to become grape juice.
Odd?
Absolutely.
Worth trying?
Definitely.
Then there was CĂ PhĂȘ Ăng and their bamboo coconut coffee served inâyou guessed itâa bamboo cup. A bamboo straw. Cool souvenirs. Refreshing, tropical, and exactly what you want on a humid Saigon afternoon. I met two new friends and rather than read my book, a daily ritual, I had a lovely conversation with them.
Mon Ami CafĂ©, a French-inspired spot where a simple cĂ phĂȘ Äen ÄĂĄ reminded me that sometimes the classics donât need improving. And I really need to lay off the condensed milkâŠ
Nine coffees.
Nine different stories.
Some hidden behind apartment staircases.
Some tucked into family homes.
Some discovered only because I decided to wander without a plan.
July 2026
